


Home Is Where You're *Not*

by SBK



Category: Voltron: Defender of the Universe
Genre: Asshole Fathers, Depression, Forgot to mention it aint beta reas, Gen, Hunk has a lot of food issues, Keith really wants to watch his shows in peace, Lance focused, Lance has a lot of home issues, M/M, Mental break downs, Multi, Other, Pidge has a lot of trust issues, Read, Running Away, Sad, Self Harm, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, all mistakes are there forever, angsty, i aint fixing shit, poor familes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-01 10:02:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8620117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SBK/pseuds/SBK
Summary: Lance runs away from home (not on a whim), and meets guys that have too (all on whims). Except Keith, it seems Keith never had a home to call his own. But who cares, Keith is an asshole anyway. Honestly fuck that guy.





	1. Him

Lance sits with his head in his hands, a box taped up underneath his ass. He doesn’t intend on moving, he instead keeps glaring down the cat before him which stares at him with its soft, fuzzy face. He can hear his siblings bickering and fighting in the other room, their mom telling them to promptly “Cállate.” Lance doesn’t move from his purchase on _his_ box. He’s not mad or irritated, just overwhelmingly sad in a sense, but not too bad that he can’t continue his quirky nature of course. He’s always moved around, having such a big family cramped in a tiny apartment can do that to you. At one point in the room he’s in, there used to be four mattresses and six people. Lance usually slept on the couch, something about five other people surrounding you and one tiny fan used for cooling you off made the couch seem that much more enticing.

 

A tiny mew leaves the cat, and it saunters up to his leg and rubs its face against it. Lance grins from ear to ear, reaches down, and pets the thing on the head. It was a competition, and never before has Lance beaten this cat at the waiting game. It’s a silent deal between hurricane like forces, the kitty will continue to ignore Lance less he wait out its condition. Though something usually happens to interrupt Lance’s star concentration, he’s just happy he could win this time. The cat is going with their cousin, they can’t take it with them nor can they further care for the animal. Lance is sad to see it go, especially after he’s finally won its affections towards him.

 

“Chicos!” Yells the children's shared mother, and this is the cue for Lance to get off his ass, bid farewell to Grasa (the cat), and hoist the box he’s used as a chair for nearly an hour. When Lance bounds down the wooden stairs and out the door, he isn’t all that surprised to find the couch, and their mattresses on the lawn.

 

“Ma! Where do I put this?” Lance asks, and it’s obvious he’s talking about the box that is currently being cradled protectively against his chest. His mom glances at him once, and then waves towards the back of the large, red pick-up truck in the driveway. His good mood is instantly ruined as king of the assholes steps out of the driver's seat, and open toothed grin on the man’s face. The two younger children run to the man, wrapping their skinny arms around his legs and squealing with joy. Almost like they go exactly what they wanted for christmas.

 

“Pa! Pa! Dad! Papi!” Is just a few of the kids’ vocabulary, and their all too excited to see this man. Lance wants to reach forth, grab them by the collars of their shirts, and yank them back. Scold them for thinking a heinous snake could be anyone’s father, and then promptly punch this “dog” in the face.

 

“What are you doing here?” Lance chooses the safe route, nails digging into the cardboard, 3D square, stuffed full of stuff. The man feigns hurt, pressing a hand to his chest as if to grip at his broken heart. Lance knows a broken heart, and he also knows it looks nothing like cowboy boots and a shiny new truck. Lane is seething.

 

“Lance! I’ve missed you. I’m here to help you move, why else?” His voice drips with fake care, with fake everything. “You can put the box in-”

 

“I’ll put on my lap.” Lance replies, only to receive a hard smack upside the head.

 

“Don’t be rude, Cabrón.” His mother scolds, and in response Lance lifts his hand to rub at the back of his head. His bottom lip jutted out as he mumbles an apology, with a stern look from his mom, Lance marches forth and drops the box in the back of the truck with a thump. He glares at the man the whole way into the house, then slams the door shut.

 

Lance is not a crier, he never has been one to sob or blubber over a person - over nothing!

 

“Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” Lance hisses out, hands moving to grip at the sides of his hair, back against the door. His family is laughing outside, the kids keep screaming _papi._ His mom lovingly calls the man idiot, it’s so irritating. It’s so unfair, it’s so… Lance’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and he thinks about ignoring it, but he still tugs it free from his short’s pocket.

  


(1:49 pm)

XXX-548-6461

Subject: Roommate.

\------

 

Hello, is this Lance? If so, about the roommate offer, it’s still open if you’re willing to take it. We don’t care about age, in fact most of us are far too young to even own an apartment. (Please just don’t  be over the age of twenty three, that’s a bit…) Either way, if you’re still looking for somewhere to move into, our door is always open. Please reply swiftly and soon, otherwise we need to start looking again.

 

\-- Pidge.

  


(1:52 pm)

XXX-680-7927

Subject: (Thumbs up emoticon)

\------

 

Ah, yes this is him! Lance, I mean. I’m still interested, in fact I’ll take it. I’ll be there in about a week or two. I just have to take care of some things, and don’t worry, I’m not 23. I’m 16.

 

\-- Lance.

  


Lance sucks in a harsh breath of air, tilting his head back against his wall. The wall is cold against his smoldering, sweat slicked skin. His hair matted down against his face from the continuous hours of hauling things onto the lawn, and packing dishes and what else they might have the luxury of owning.

 

Stephon is no longer his problem, Stephon no longer is his dad. Never has, never will be. Lance sucks in another harsh breath, shoves his phone back into his pocket. He wears his best smile, opens the door to the house, runs a hand down his face and marches forth.

  
“Mami, is there anything I can help you with?”


	2. The Phone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance loses his phone, Pidge gets a call from said phone, and Keith is just trying to figure out what movie he wants to spend the rest of the night watching.

Sweat slides down Lance’s face, arms splayed across the dead, scratchy grass. His shirt has been discarded somewhere in exchange for a tank-top. He’s exhausted, eyes slowly sliding closed. The air tastes humid and dry, like he’s breathing in the steam that leaves a cup of hot coffee. Just seconds away from the call of sweet, blissful slumber, his phone has to buzz. His eyes peel open, the sunlight assaulting the man’s poor receptors. He goes to ignore it, as anyone who is absolutely tired would reasonably decide on their own… until it starts buzzing nonstop. Lance’s annoyance skyrockets like a firework on the fourth of july, and he yanks the electronical device free from the confines of his pocket. 

  
  
  


(6:32 pm)

XXX-548-6461

Subject: When? 

\------ 

 

Hey! It’s me, Pidge. Sorry to be a bother but when are you coming by to move in? 

 

(6:34 pm)

XXX-548-6461

Subject: When? 

\------ 

 

Sorry to be ever so persistent but, are you coming over today? 

  
  


(6:32 pm)

XXX-548-6461

Subject: When? 

\------ 

 

Do you wanna scope out the apartment first? To make sure it’s safe or something. 

  
  


(6:32 pm)

XXX-548-6461

Subject: When? 

\------  

 

Lance????

  
  


(6:55 pm)

XXX-680-7927

Subject: (Thumbs up emoticon) 

\------  

 

Ah, sorry, my “dad” is bugging me. I’ll be over by the end of the week at the latest. I don’t really need to check out the apartment I just need a place to go. Buuuttt, I wouldn’t object to a couple of photos somehow winding up in my inbox. Speaking of photos and inboxes, do you maybe have a kik? That’d make things hyper easier. But also back to the pic things, I don’t have an SD card so don’t send too many. I won’t have any room. 

  
  
  


Lance lets the phone slide out of his lanky fingers and onto his stomach, a small smile moving across his face. His exhaustion has seemingly melted away for excitement instead, he already chose a few choice items to bring with him. His birthday money from last christmas, (300$), and a few of his clothes packed into his favorite duffle bag. It has his initials engraved on the fabric of the handle, making it optimal for his approval. 

 

“Get you a girlfriend?” Stephon asks, hovering above Lance with a water bottle in his hand. The man has a smile on his face, and it’s almost sickening to look at. “The way you’re smiling after texting whoever makes me a wee bit curious.” The man unscrews the lid, and the tips it over - it spills, flowing all over Lance’s face, who lunches off the ground. Covered in grass, and soaked to the bone, Lance’s good mood is instantly stepped all over. 

 

“What the hell?!” Lance shouts, anger engraved on his face. He wants to punch Stephon more than ever, his eyes squeezed shut to avoid getting any of the water in them. His phone has fallen to his side, somewhere in the grass, though that should be the least of his worries. Stephon leans down, fingers curling around Lance’s discarded phone, and slips it into his pocket. 

 

“Hahaha, it’s a joke, a joke. I’ll get you a towel. Hold on.” Stephon turns around from the direction he originally came from and goes inside, leaving the door partly open. Lance is more than just your ordinary angered, he’s ready to murder at this point. He makes due with just his hands wiping at his eyes, but when a fluffy, unwashed and stinky towel makes it in his laugh, he doesn’t know whether to be offended or grateful. He still wipes his eyes off, then runs it through his hair, before tossing it to the side. 

 

“You’re a… Oh whatever.” Lance stops himself, patting around for the object of his escape. Except, said item is nowhere to be found, nowhere at all. It’s all just dead grass and the occasional mud - from the water of course. “Have you seen my phone?” Lance hisses out, giving up on his attempt to search through the sea of green. It isn’t like he was making any amazing progress anyway. 

 

“No I haven’t, maybe you accidentally packed it?” Stephon tilts his head back and allows the cool water to slide down his throat, the same exact liquid he’d (rudely) poord on Lance. Assaulting the teenager without an ounce of remorse or respect.

 

“No I didn’t pack it, I just had it. Not like I expected you to be much help anyway.” Lance continues his search but finds that he can’t stand Stephon hovering over him, looking down on him. It irritates him more than anything, and so with a final pat and a huff, Lance hoists himself to his feet. “Whatever, I’ll go look inside.” And then proceeds to make his grand escape. 

  
  


\---- 

  
  


“What’s our potential new roommate like?” Hunk asks, wet still from the shower. The occasional clear droplet finding its way on the floor. There’s a towel wrapped around his neck, and he’s dressed in button-up dog pajamas. Something he believes to be a revolution, something pure and perfect. They suit his tastes to a T. 

 

“Uhh, I’ve only talked over text and kik. He seems a bit anxious, very straightforward, and nice. Nothing too scary, nothing like that one thirty-year-old weirdo who tried to say that all the toilet paper in the house belonged to him.” Pidge informed. Pidge was seated at the kitchen table, laptop displayed before their eyes. They were dressed in baggy shorts and a long sleeved shirt, glasses resting on the bridge of their nose. 

 

“Sounds alright.” Keith pipes in, a few new “hot movie picks” set out before him. By new, everyone who knows Keith knows that they’re from the 1900s. Quite frankly, every single one he’s showed Pidge and Hunk has brutally sucked… or it’s some weird, subtitled cartoon. Pidge thinks the anime is alright, but Hunk thinks it’s annoying and overly cliche. Pidge’s phone suddenly bursts into “Get’cha Head in The Game.” With a sigh from Hunk, and no further reaction from Keith, Pidge shifts to look at the caller ID. 

 

“Speak of the devil.” Pidge excuses themselves, before going upstairs and answering it. “Hello? Pidge speaking.” 

 

“Hi Pidge, it’s me, Lance.” Comes a deeper, mexican accent thick, male voice. It’s almost a different contrast to what Lance  _ texts  _ like. “I’m just curious, what might the address be? I seem to have accidentally deleted all my text messages. SD card error, it must have fell out our bounced around.” This raises approximately seventy-two red flags for Pidge. If they remember correctly,  _ Lance,  _ does not have an SD card. 

 

“Oh.” Pidge decides to play it safe, best not to ask any risky questions that could potentially put everyone in danger. “Our address? It’s far, you’re coming by tonight right? Would you like us to pick you up?” Nice job dodging Pidge, if only you’d been able to do that in P.E. 

 

“Ahh, no, no I have a ride. My awesome father will take me there.” 

 

Pidge’s lips set into a firm, straight line. First of all, Lance had said he wouldn’t arrive until the  _ end of the week.  _ Second of all, someone who is looking for a place to stay doesn’t call their dad “awesome.” Especially if they had earlier texted ‘Sorry, “dad” issues.’ Pidge knows something shady is definitely taking place. 

 

“My phone is at low battery, let me call you back from my roommates.” Pidge pulls the phone away from their ear, and hits the big red button. Something is unsettling about this, and it occurs to Pidge that Lance might just be in some sort of trouble. He recalls the first phone call they ever had, that was the one and only time Lance has ever mentioned an address. It’s a damn good thing Pidge writes everything down, and they mean  _ everything.  _ But first, how to inform Keith that they’re all going to have to go save someone that isn’t for sure in trouble or for sure their roommate…. Still… 

 

Pidge has an idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my throat hurts :( 
> 
> HAPPY THANKSGIVING MY MAN, I'M THANKFUL THAT I'M ABLE TO WRITE THIS WONDERFUL PIECE!!! IMMA TYPE UP A CUTE LITTLE FIC OF DAIYA, MAYBE BUNGOU!!!


	3. Sanchez Household

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance lays on the floor and cries, and Keith shows up with that /ugly/ mullet.

“Alright, not that I’m not used to this type of stuff already, but why did you take apart your phone and then connect it to a lot of confusing wires that lead to three different computers?” Hunk says it, and Keith mentally thanks him. He’s already decided to go with  _ The Island of Dr. Moreau _ , a weird movie of pure gibberish about trying to make a human/bird hybrid? It doesn’t matter, Keith just knows it’s in his top ten. 

 

“Okay so I think someone is in danger and that maybe a previous call I had somewhere in July of last year can lead me to details and help me figure out everything? It’s super serious and I’m worried for the safety of us and our potential new roommate and I really hate putting things up on craigs-list because it’s uncomfortable and literally anyone could find my number, call it, and then murder all of us.” Pidge sucks in a sigh of breath, and then releases it. “I’m going through the call logs, which is totally illegal because I don’t work for the phone company or the FBI but I mean.” 

 

“I think we’re roommates with a maybe evil scientist.” Hunk adds under his breath, to which Pidge tilts their head back with a slightly sickening grin. 

 

“Why the maybe?” Pidge looks a bit insane at this moment, and if Hunk were a dog, his ears would be flat against his skull and his tail tucked between his legs. “Anyway, I need you two to go to this address.” 

 

“No.” Keith blurts out, his hand lovingly pressed against the front of his ‘favorite’ movie. He wants to watch it, he needs to watch it now. He craves the lone man and his island, and the thrill of an adventure the entirety of that movie is. “Besides, it could be dangerous, I know what you’re suggesting and this isn’t something we want to get ourselves involved in without a perfect plan.” 

 

“I have a plan.” Pidge informs. “I’m going to call back with my other phone, and explain that it’s my roommate’s Kale’s phone. You two are going to the address I give you, and depending on the situation, are going to pretend that you went to the wrong address. Then specifically, Keith, is going to ask if they have a phone he can borrow. Hunk, you’re going to make small talk and attempt to get to know everyone’s names. You're a big teddy bear, I’m sure they’ll warm up to you nicely.” PIdge points back to the computers spewn about the floor and kitchen counter. “I’ll stay here and send directions via text message.” 

 

“I don’t know whether to be terrified or not.” Hunk mumbles, but Keith still isn’t having it. He has things to do, and that does NOT include saving some stranger from the clutches of evil. 

 

“No.” Keith says, eyes narrowing. “That’s stupid and complicated-”

 

“You can watch your awful movies on the big screen for a week.” 

 

“Pfft, there’s no way Keith would agree to something like that.” Hunk looks at Pidge with an incredible look. Keith is a rock of no emotion, he would not succumb to something so lowly and simple like that. 

“Let’s go Hunk.” Keith scoots out of the table, heads to the other side of the kitchen and plucks his keys right off the keyholder. It’s a panel with thumb tacks halfway pushed in, so that way the key rings can hang off them. 

 

“We’re seriously going?” Hunk groans out, tossing his head back with a scowl on his face. “Ugh fine, wait for me.”  

 

Pidge grins. Yes, this plan is absolutely perfect! 

 

\---

 

Stephon had gone to the store or something, and so Lance had been stuck sitting around with anxiety coursing through his veins. He had no idea where his phone was, and his mom would literally  _ kill  _ him if she found out he had lost it. Which is why he silently prays that she does  _ not  _ call him, because that could very well end with him six feet under. The sucky thing about all of this is that he's  _ alone.  _ Alone in an empty house, that looks and smells like memories. The wood is chipped by the door, due to how many times everyone came bounding in and slamming the door knob into the poor room divider. 

 

There's faded crayon sticking to the wall, plenty of scrubbing never got rid of it's rather… permanent effect on the old paint. The ceiling fan wobbles out of place, due to how many times Lance hit his long, lanky arms on the blades. Hurt like Hell, he can testify to that. There's tape clinging to the wall, dirtied a shade of black that makes it an ugly sight to behold. 

 

Lance can feel his heart breaking bit by bit as the truth dawns on him. He's going to have to say goodbye to this shitty apartment, this two bedroom, duplex that he's spent almost a full year in. That might not sound a lot, but it only takes .5 seconds to fall in love, and Lance is in love with this rundown place. Lance doesn't want to say goodbye, or leave it, or let some other family make memories in his  _ home.  _

 

Lance remembers the time when he sprinted up the stairs and biffed it, foot catching on a step and his body springing forward with no stops. He bashed his face on the railing and chipped his tooth, and boy you’ll never know pain until that happens to you. There's still a dent on the wood, and Lance will show it to anyone who asks. 

 

Then there's that time he brought his extremely  _ white  _ friend here, and they stole oreos off the top shelf and definitely ate them all. They sat in his mom’s car and played around on some weird chat engine, and they really bonded over that. He hasn't talked to Brayden, or seen him since ninth grade. Lance is a sophomore now, and that sounds like a year but it wasn't. Not quite, because it happened in winter and it's barely summer so--  _ anyway.  _

 

Lance lets himself sprawl out on the cool, beaten up, wooden floor. Cheek smooshed against the ground, and he lets the tears roll like a soccer ball. Teeth sinking into his bottom lip, and boy is he an ugly crier. Wails leave him, all scruffy and high-pitched, and enough to make anyone laugh. He knows, he  _ knows,  _ that he's done this his whole life so it shouldn't be so  _ hard  _ but damn it is. It's always the hardest thing he's ever had to do, and every time he cries he gets a hard slap on the back from his older brother. 

 

“You're a man Lance, stop that.” Stephon speaks from the open door, that Lance had  _ definitely  _ not heard open. If he had, he  _ really  _ wouldn't be crying like a newborn baby on the floor all embarrassing like. 

 

“I just got something in my eye.” Lance informs, but they both know that the burnett  _ doesn't have shit in his eye.  _ But they don't say a word, because sometimes you gotta let a lie flutter past you even if you know it's bullshit. 

 

“Are you ready to go?” Lance mumbles, peeling his hot and sweaty body off the floor. He’s kind of like a wet and soapy towel, he certainly feels gross. 

 

“I'm ready if you are.” Stephon replies, and then with a low whistle, he goes ahead and back tracks towards the truck. Lance follows suit shortly, hands tucked into his shorts. He swears his phone  _ is out here somewhere,  _ there's definitely no  _ way  _ he packed it. Actually, he had it on his stomach when water was dumped on his face. It just doesn't add up. 

 

Shakira comes blasting from Stephon’s phone, and it's utterly  _ amusing.  _ Well, it was until Lance realises that A) that's his ringtone. B) That's his phone that's being pulled out of those ugly, ripped jeans. 

 

“Hola? This is a bad time, I'll call back later-” 

 

“Oi, why do you have my phone?” Lance feels  _ betrayed,  _ it hasn't even been a day and Stephon has  _ already  _ done some stupid, asshole shit that gets on Lance’s nerves more than anything in the whole world. “And why did you answer it?” Stephon hangs up, stuffing the mobile device back into his pants pocket. 

 

“Let's talk about this in the car.” 

 

“No, let's talk about it now.” Lance feels his irritation skyrocketing, nails digging into the flesh of his palm, potentially drawing blood. 

 

As if God is sending a tension breaker, a rundown, shitty, white car of some kind strolls up. It's paint is chipped and it sputters as the engine slowly turns off. It's at this exact moment Lance sees the  _ prettiest man ever  _ step out of the car. He has luscious, black hair, purple eyes (unnatural, but he can get behind that), and a red hoodie. And  _ damn he looks good.  _ Lance’s mouth is admittedly, one hundred percent open. Except… the whole look is totally slandered by that  _ ridiculous mullet.  _

 

“Hi, is this the Sanchez household?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed my username from Syntheticballoonkid to SBK because it's shorter. It's lit just an abbreviation of my previous name.

**Author's Note:**

> if you call or text those numbers you'll get me or me so don't unless you want late midnight conversations
> 
> edit: nah, no phone number lmao


End file.
